Rose without a thorn
by Cosima
Summary: The Darcys share their love through letters during a separation.


Rose Without a Thorn~Letters (A short diversion *G*)  
  
Posted on Sunday, 27 April 2003  
  
London, 1821  
My beloved and my friend,  
Have you ever been sitting at your desk, knowing that you want  
to write to the person you love most in this world but not being  
able to form a proper sentence? Looking down at the floor I see  
about fifteen disrupted pieces of paper, proof that I'm not very  
proficient at letter-writing but what else is new? I can see  
your brows lifting themselves at this most senseless babbling  
but also your lovely smile. Am I forgiven for being too much in  
love to know how to put it into words?  
I marvel at your ability to write the most beautiful, most  
affectionate letters for not only are they gardens of flowers,  
sweet smells and gentle butterflies but also sincere, deep and  
rooted in the very core of your love and desire to be loved.  
Having revealed frankly once what I was feeling I may do so now,  
trusting that you will not be offended by it. As my life  
progressed I was the target of many passions, feelings and  
desires which aroused my pity and indifference rather than love  
or regard. Being brought up in a family where even the thought  
of acting on feelings or making a choice for love was regarded  
as a folly I developed some sort of aloofness which proved to be  
a curse rather than a blessing which you, ange adorable, know  
best, I dare say.  
Were it not for you and your benevolence and goodwill I may as  
well have ended up as a bitter old man. For seven years now  
we've been living together, spending our youth in love and  
friendship. Being realistic rather than romantic I know that  
what we have is neither typical nor a given and I want you to  
know that I thank God daily for making you a part of my life.  
But, as usual, I'm straying from my original point, please  
forgive me.  
Of all the feelings I've stirred there was one and only one  
except for you which was sincere, tender and loving but I failed  
to realise it. Before I met you my family had formed my life  
before I was capable of uttering a word, not to speak of  
deciding how I would live my life. My excellent parents had been  
married for about three years and were pleased at my birth,  
especially because my poor mother had miscarried two infants  
previously. As a baby I was spoiled, perhaps my fastidiousness  
of later times had started right there. But after four years a  
blow struck my entire family and it was I who was blamed for it  
though it was none of my doing. A respectable doctor, summoned  
because my mother had not conceived in years and was eager to  
know why, told her that by giving birth to me something within  
her was destroyed for good and that there would be no more  
children. My mother, God bless her, bore the news with grace and  
strength as did my father who, a firm stoic, refused to give way  
to his feelings.  
Ever since then he kept me at a distance, as an innocent child I  
was incapable of seeing through his facade and even though I was  
the sole heir my father avoided me, rarely spoke to me and never  
allowed me to call him anything but Sir, the most intimate name  
for him was Father, a name rarely used because he insisted on  
formality rather than natural regard.  
As the years progressed my father became bitter and lonely, his  
dogs were the only ones whose company he enjoyed. My mother,  
feeling absolutely ashamed bore a guilt which never existed for  
twelve years after I was born she found herself to be pregnant  
again. But as hopeful as I was there was no way of turning back  
the clock. And that the child was a girl did nothing to break  
the wall of ice between us. I myself was infatuated with my  
little sister ever since I beheld her first. For years she was  
the only person in this world whom I truly loved. Not my  
betrothed, whom I rarely saw, not my friends and certainly not  
my parents whose silence I had come to tolerate but fail to  
understand to this day.  
Yes, as revolting as this may sound to you, my beloved  
Elizabeth, I've been engaged before I met you. My mother's  
sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had lost her husband after  
three years of marriage. She had just given birth to her  
daughter Anne. Her constitution was frail and sickly, the  
doctors did not think she would survive but thank heavens she  
did and blossomed into a beautiful young girl. Anne and I rarely  
met and even though she was wearing a ring my parents had sent  
her when they decided that we should be married I never saw much  
in her. Her quiet nature, her calm were nothing to a young man  
who had just come back from studying abroad, I liked her but  
never much thought of her as my future bride.  
I grieved for her when she was suffering from pneumonia but  
didn't give it much thought for I had gone through this ailment  
without any serious problem. How was I to know that she would  
never recover from it? Ever since then she was plagued by a  
violent cough and constant fever. I spent to further thought on  
her and when my father died I broke off the engagement on the  
grounds of being too closely related to the woman in question.  
As much as I was reproached by her mother I didn't receive one  
harsh word from Anne. At that time I was merely glad of having  
escaped such a match but looking back I see now what incredible  
suffering I inflicted on her.  
I was only to find out when I was called at her side to witness  
her premature death at mere nineteen. Another bout of fever had  
consumed all her resources and it was obvious that it would be  
lethal this time. Lady Catherine had taken to her bed because  
she was totally distraught but I stayed with her until she died  
at night, only two days after I had arrived. We didn't speak  
much because her lips were burning from the fever but before she  
died she squeezed my hand gently and gave me a smile. A smile so  
sincere and angelic that I thought it would kill me. Her burning  
lips started to bleed because of the strain which the smile had  
inflicted upon them but she didn't stop smiling at me until she  
died with a gentle sigh. Her departure was redemption for her  
but I, who was supposed to comfort her mother and the family,  
felt as if I had lost a treasure I didn't even attempt to value.  
Do not take this as a degradation of the love I feel for you but  
as a confession of a soul deeply in need of the comfort only you  
can give.  
I never loved Anne and wouldn't love her today but I may have  
acted otherwise if I had known. My angel, what did this cause in  
your mind? I would be forever grateful to you if you could tell  
me what you think. Please, do not think ill of me, though I  
understand that you may feel duped by me, which was never my  
intention.  
I must conclude now, writing this was draining and painful but I  
will never regret sharing everything with you for I know that  
you'll understand me as you always do.  
William  
  
Pemberley, 1821  
My beloved and my friend,  
First let me thank you for this long letter, though it was hard  
for me to read it all in one sitting. There is nothing to  
forgive if you're too much in love, my dearest.  
I was moved at your words on your childhood, reading how you  
grew up in a world bare of almost any feelings was distressing  
and alarming. Remembering my words and actions before our  
engagement I can only offer my most sincere compassion. There  
was, however, something at which I cannot put my finger on yet.  
Did your mother distance herself from you as well? How terrible  
it must have been to grow up with so little support and  
affection from those who were bound to love you most.  
Let me assure you that, though pained by it, I'm not revolted by  
your previous engagement. For now it is my turn to confess  
something I never told you. I know about it, I know about it  
ever since our engagement. How may wonder how all this came  
about and I'm willing to explain it. When our engagement was  
announced I was the happiest of women until a most disturbing  
visitor called on me. She introduced herself as your aunt and  
demanded to speak to me without greeting my mother or paying  
respect to my relations. Even though she assumed that I knew  
perfectly why she had come to see me I had to admit that I had  
no knowledge of it whatsoever. Ignoring my agitation she rambled  
on about the most distressing misfortune which I had inflicted  
on your family and, to top her arrogance, she demanded me to  
renounce you forever. I refused most ardently but then she  
played out her most shocking card, your engagement to her  
daughter. Yet she admitted that it was dissolved before you even  
set eyes on me but she insisted that if I were gone you'd take  
Anne back.  
Not willing to endure any more insults I asked her to leave and  
was obeyed but also had some most terrible threats thrown at me.  
She swore that she would make your family hate me and that she'd  
do anything in her power to do our marriage harm. Now that you  
know this you may understand why I never cared much for Lady  
Catherine and wasn't truly mourning her when she passed away a  
year ago.  
As for the hell you must have gone through when you saw Anne die  
please believe me that I grieve for her and that I harbor no ill  
feeling or jealousy for her. My heart sank when I read about her  
final moments but thinking about it lifted my spirits. Anne was  
happy with you there, let her strength give you courage, be  
inspired by her steady regard for you and do not let her love  
weaken you for I doubt that she wished you to be unhappy but to  
live a life of bliss. I see no reason for blaming you any  
further, if Anne forgave you, why can't you forgive yourself?  
Let her forgiveness be a light to lead you through her life, a  
blessing to be worthy of and redemption of all the guilt you are  
feeling because you dissolved your engagement to her.  
To my eyes Anne revealed herself to be a strong and most  
courageous woman, a woman who did not yield to weakness of body  
but clinged to her strong character and thus managed to be a  
paragon to all of us. I hope that my words could give you  
comfort and that you may bear it easier now. My love, I miss you  
most cruelly as do the children. Little Janet never seizes to  
ask when her dearest Papa will be back and Richard can't wait to  
show you the boat he built all by himself. And thus I remain  
your loving wife,  
Elizabeth  
  
London, 1821  
My beloved and my friend,  
Mon ange, I thank you most exceedingly for your letter and the  
encouragement it gave me. Once more you showed insight I can  
only admire with humility for I never would have thought of it  
that way. This is one of your virtues I love most, your ability  
to see the positive side of everything. Where I could only see  
suffering you saw strength, compassion and nobility, what does  
this reveal about me? That I, with what I thought was a  
privileged upbringing, must look up to you whose wisdom and love  
are a shining paragon to us all.  
You asked me about my mother, a person harder to describe than  
my father but I shall give it a try. My mother was a warm-  
hearted friendly woman who never meddled in anything except the  
education of her children and her duties as mistress of  
Pemberley. She married my father at seventeen, he was more than  
ten years her senior. This difference of age may not have been a  
problem in their life as a couple but it was a hurdle for their  
life as partners in a marriage.  
My father, being an ardent admirer of literature and art didn't  
have much to say to my mother who preferred horses and nature  
over every written word or artistry. Sometimes they'd spend  
hours together without uttering a word. With time she became  
content with her lot and gave up riding and breeding roses for  
her family and her rank. But she wasn't happy, at thirty-two she  
looked like fifty and she died more of a broken heart than of  
childbirth I suppose. My father blamed the baby of course and  
never cared for Georgiana, this is why she is afraid of men and  
easily impressed by those who appear kind and loving.  
After about eight years I didn't make any more attempts to  
revive my mother's happy disposition as I had known it when I  
was very little. She didn't let anyone enter the world she had  
built for herself and to be completely honest, I believe she was  
yearning for death. I lost her when I was twelve, she had just  
given birth to Georgiana. As much as I adored my little sister,  
she couldn't replace the loving mother I had known as a toddler.  
My fond memories of her never faded, I cling to them to this  
day.  
Please embrace the children for me and tell them that I shall be  
home in about a week. I miss you all and cannot wait to take you  
in my arms again.  
Your loving husband,  
William  
  
My beloved and my friend,  
Richard urged me to write to you and tell you about his new boat which  
isn't made of paper but of wood this time! As if I wouldn't write to  
you on my own, he's already learning from you, my love. Of course I'm  
only talking in jest but I Couldn't resist! And yes, of wood, your son  
has been an eager pupil of his dear Papa and has lived up to his  
expectations as a Captain, I guess. He sends you his love and a big  
kiss. I can still see you two down at the lake playing with the paper-  
boats. I had never seen you as happy; with your sleeves rolled up on  
your arms and rid of cravat and waistcoat you looked just as  
irresistible as ever.  
I want to urge you to remember your mother as she was, I agree with  
you here. As you know, I too have parents who have little in common  
and I can truly understand how you must have felt. I admire your  
strength in holding your mother dear to your heart as you do, this is  
not an easy task. Always remember than our life can be compared to a  
rose, planted by God, growing and blossoming, being at its peak and  
dying in the frost but leaving an everlasting impression on those who  
enjoyed the sweet perfume, the colour of the petals and the beauty of  
the bud. And if nurtured well new buds are formed each year, being our  
children, grandchildren and so forth. But there is no rose without a  
thorn and they stand for life's difficulties and tragedies. If we had  
no rain at all we would not esteem the sunlight as we are bound to.  
I shall conclude with some happy news; my beloved, we shall have  
another child in about six months. May this be a sign for us to  
rejoice and be to our children what we wanted our parents to be to us.  
I believe we're on the right path and as long as we walk together no  
thorn can be hurtful enough to tear us apart. Just as the world needs  
sunshine and rain to survive we need happiness and tragedies to remind  
us that we're mortals and not above God's law. As long as we don't  
despair there is nothing which we cannot go through together.  
Your loving wife,  
Elizabeth  
A smile of radiant joy enlightened Darcy's face as he kissed his  
wife's signature and breathed in the light perfume which her hand had  
left on it.  
  
~Finis~ 


End file.
